


In Life There are Meetings Which Seem Like a Fate

by xcourtney_chaoticx



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 22:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15181145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcourtney_chaoticx/pseuds/xcourtney_chaoticx
Summary: Jim hadn't expected to be captured during during the war. Of course, no one really expects to get captured, so it certainly comes as a nasty shock whenever it happens.He hadn't expected to be kidnapped, either, but life is always full of surprises. What's one more?





	In Life There are Meetings Which Seem Like a Fate

**Author's Note:**

> from a tumblr prompt someone sent me a while ago that I somehow never got around to posting... but it's here now! 
> 
> no warnings

Captain James T West would not say he was in the greatest position. Captured by the enemy is generally a pretty poor place to be, as a matter of fact, and that is just where he is now: tied up, sat on the wet ground under a tree, all his weapons taken away. It was supposed to be a simple mission. He was just supposed to scout ahead and look for a nice place for his regiment to camp for the night. Instead, he ran into a bunch of Rebs who promptly captured him. West is smart enough not to put up a fight, not when the fight is about thirty-to-one, but he’s starting to get annoyed. _Guess I’ve been annoyed since I’ve been captured… annoyed with myself._ It wasn’t very smart of him to get captured, though it wasn’t his fault, either.

He shifts, wiggling a bit in his seat to get more comfortable. The officers already tried to get information out of him, but West steadfastly refused to tell them anything other than his name and rank. Another officer threatened him with a beating, but the higher man told him off. So West didn’t get a beating, but he isn’t getting the best treatment in the world. He’s been tied up for two days now, his hands only freed for him to eat the slop they give him and to relieve himself. _It’s a mite uncomfortable._ He’s heard the whispers from the other men that he’s going to Andersonville, and that makes his stomach churn with fear.

Andersonville is Hell brought to earth. Men starve and die of thirst and waste away from disease within those walls. Those who’ve been lucky enough to escape or be freed tell horror stories of the prison that could make any man’s stomach roll. It is not a place West wants to go. _I could try to escape, but I’m too heavily outnumbered. It’d be suicide._ He’s a fighter, but he’s not stupid. He knows well enough when the odds are against him. They’re against him now.

Night falls over the little camp where West is being kept, the fire crackling warmly. The Rebs are cooking some kind of meat and boiling coffee over the fire, and the smells make West’s mouth water. Asking for some food or drink will only result in the Rebs laughing at him and telling him no, though, so he refrains from asking. Thankfully, the Rebs pretty much ignore him, just eating and telling bawdy stories of women they’ve known. West just sits quietly, listening, learning. They do talk quite freely around him.

“Fellas, how are ya?”

A newcomer joins the group, his grey uniform tattered and filthy, his face dirty, stubble on his chin and cheeks. West supposes the man would be handsome if he were cleaned up a bit, with his well-shaped face and warm dark eyes and curly dark hair. He wears a crooked sort of grin, one that reeks of mischief.

“Fair to middlin’,” one of the privates answers, a man called Milton, “Hope ya don’t mind me askin’ who ya are?”

“Sergeant Amos Greenley, at your service,” he replies, his grin somehow more crooked and mischievous, “of the 6th Kentucky Infantry. Couldn’t help but notice your, uh, your friend over here. Mighty interestin’ fella.”

“Interestin’ he may be, but he ain’t our friend. We ain’t got no Yankee friends, that’s for damn sure, Sgt. Greenley, sir,” the one called Litchfield says.

“S’pose ya got a point there… Tell you boys what, if y’all share with me some of that coffee there, I may just pass on some vital information to ya.”

Litchfield hurries to obey. Greenley takes a deep swig of the hot coffee, smacking his lips and declaring it ‘mighty fine brew’ before scooting closer to the Reb group with a conspiratorial look in his eyes.

“Now boys, lemme tell ya what… I know a ‘lil somethin’ about this Yankee fella here, somethin’ real interestin’.”

He waits for the men to clamor for the information. _Seems like a bit of a showboat to me._

“Why, what y’all have here is not only a Yankee captain, a mighty fine prize in itself, but you have possibly one of the most _im_ -portant Yankee captains you could get.”

West fights the urge to snort with laughter. _I’m not even the most important captain in my brigade!_ He’s had some important missions, works under General Grenville Dodge collecting information on occasion, but he would hardly categorize himself as important. Still, the scuttlebutt is fun to listen to, wild rumors concocted by fear and boredom and misheard information.

Greenley continues on, “Yessir, he’s mighty important. General Grant feels almost fatherly toward this boy here, and General Sherman too. Captain West here is, uh, a very important asset… one I think would be wasted in Andersonville if ya ask me.”

“What are you on about, Sarge?” Easton speaks up.

“I mean, that Captain West here is a very important asset… one that could be very valuable to us if we think it through.”

The Rebs are all listening intently, and so is West, the plot thickening with every word Greenley says.

“Someone like this, someone General Grant thinks so highly of, could be worth a lot of money if we play our cards right, boys. In Andersonville, he’ll just have to wait his turn in the trade line. Should someone spirit him away, however-“

“We can’t kidnap the prisoner!”

Easton is immediately shushed by every other man. West is fighting the urge to laugh. _I’m pretty well kidnapped already._ _Really, that’s what taking prisoners of war is, kidnapping._ Greenley motions them closer, all five of them.

“Why can’t we take him, boys? He’s worth a pretty penny, after all, and no one else here seems to recognize his value ‘sides us,” he whispers, “We been fightin’ this war for three years now, and for what? For the damn Yankees to keep whippin’ us back! I think we deserve to make a ‘lil profit on this thing here.”

“I don’t think we oughta do that, Sarge,” Easton says earnestly, “That just don’t seem right, for us to profit off him when his bein’ in prison could help our country.”

Easton seems to be the only voice of reason among his comrades, but West is fairly intrigued to see how far this will go. If he’s only got four or five men to fight off, he might have a good shot at fighting them off and escaping.

“All I’m sayin’ is that we could be heroes, boys! We could negotiate all kinds of things for the favorite staff member of General Grant… We might even be able to negotiate a surrender!”

West can’t hold back his laughter at that. They all look at him, Greenley asking, “Somethin’ funny to you, Yankee?”

“Only that you think you could ransom me for a surrender.”

Greenley rises and comes closer to him, says, “You callin’ me a liar, boy?”

“I’m not calling you a liar, sergeant… just stupid,” he smirks.

Greenley only gives him a dirty look despite the other men calling for him to strike him, tells them, “I don’t think that’s called for, boys. Looks to me like he’s been roughed up a bit already. Can’t peddle damaged goods, after all…”

West simply listens to the Rebs hash out all the details of their kidnap plot, knowing that they don’t know they’re giving him the perfect chance to escape. That’s why he sits so calmly, waits so patiently. He only needs his time to escape. They’re going to steal him away the next night, under the cover of darkness so no one will see them. _Young Easton there doesn’t seem to want any part of this._ That’s good. Even if he is a Reb, he’s a good fellow and West wouldn’t like to see him get into too much trouble. Everyone else though, Litchfield, Milton, Blair, and Warwick, seems ready and willing to commit treason against the traitors they’d pledged their loyalty to. _That Greenley is a smooth talker… smoothest I’ve ever seen._ Not many men can talk other men into crime that easily.

The next day, West just waits, and surprisingly, Greenley is the first to come talk to him while the others sit and plot and joke. He comes with some food and drink and a crooked smile that isn’t quite as mischievous as yesterday’s.

“Captain West,” he drawls quietly, “Figured ya better get your strength up for our little jaunt into the woods tonight… better eat somethin’…”

West gratefully accepts the dried meat and biscuit, washing it down with a sip from Greenley’s canteen.

“Thank you, sergeant, but if you don’t mind my asking… why are you being so nice to me right now? I might not be so nice once we get into the woods.”

That mischief is back, and Greenley speaks again, telling him, “Perhaps, Captain West, you ought not to ask so many questions.”

There was no drawl to that sentence. West blinks up at him, but Greenley only gives him a wink before heading back to the group and engaging them in a bawdy song, his drawl back in full force. _Curious… very curious…_

Once night falls and the camp is all asleep, Greenley comes over again, quietly untying West from the tree and whispering without his drawl, “Just follow my lead and don’t make a lot of fuss. If you manage to get yourself killed- well, it won’t be good for either of us.”

“Who are you-“

“Later,” he hisses, then puts on the affect again and tells him more loudly, “Now get up, ya damn Yankee. Said ya had to piss, didn’t ya? Well, get up so ya can piss!”

That eases attention off of them. No one cares about a man who has to piss. Greenley leads him off into the woods, meeting up with Litchfield, Milton, Blair, and Warwick, the four Rebs already waiting for them.

“Reckon the ‘lil Easton fella chickened out, huh? Oh well, one less man to split the reward… Okay c’mon, let’s go, boys. We got a lotta ground to cover before daylight, gotta put a lotta distance between us and the Army here…”

Greenley keeps a tight hold on the rope tied around West’s hands, partly to keep him from getting away, but it seems also partly to keep him upright. It’s slow going for six men through the underbrush, but they get a couple good miles in before they stop to rest.

“I could use some coffee… Hey, Blair, get a fire goin’, would ya-“

“Hell no, Litchfield!” Greenley says, “Are you stupid? Anyone come after us’ll find us in a damned hurry if ya light a fire! You’ll have to make due with whatever ya got in your canteens.”

“Damn… ain’t someone got a bottle?”

“Fine lot I cast in with… Here, ya fools, I got a bottle ‘a whiskey for ya. I was tryin’ to save it for our celebration, but I s’pose we can celebrate a ‘lil early… Just don’t give that damn Yankee none.”

“You want the first swig, Sarge?”

“No, Warwick, go ahead. Just save me some, will ya?”

The four Rebs drink with gusto, passing the bottle until something curious happens. They all just fall asleep.

“Hmm, that worked quicker than I expected,” Greenley says, no more accent, deftly untying West’s hands, “Anyway, come with me, Captain West. We’ve got to return you to your men.”

“Just who the hell are you?”

“My name is Captain Artemus Gordon, and I come to you courtesy of General Grenville Dodge, whom I believe we both have the pleasure of working for.”

“You’re telling me General Dodge sent you after me?”

“In a manner of speaking… c’mon, we’ve got to get moving before those boys wake up. If that little trick got them to sleep quicker than I thought, they may wake up quicker than I expect, too. Follow me.”

“You actually know your way around this godforsaken place?”

“I have many talents, Captain West… or may I call you James? I’m not necessarily a military minded man myself. I do prefer using an actual name rather than rank and title, a little quirk of mine.”

His whole demeanor is changed. Sergeant Greenley was very loose-limbed, carried himself slouched over, his arms and legs moving almost too far. Captain Gordon seems very sure of himself, every move calculated. His manner is still easy, nothing at all like the ramrod straightness of most officers. His smirk is still mischievous, still a little crooked, but his eyes are still warm and dark, even in the near black of the nighttime woods. All in all, though, West feels he can trust this man.

They trudge together through the underbrush, West occasionally stumbling and Gordon grabbing at him to keep him upright. It’s a little thing, but it’s something that draws West to him. Gordon could simply let West fall, could let him trip every few seconds and then make a joke of him back at camp, but instead, he helps him. He urges West to watch where he steps, to follow in his exact path, occasionally asks if he’s okay.

“Captain Gordon-“

“Please, James, call me Artemus. I prefer it.”

“Alright then… Artemus, what is it exactly that you do for General Dodge?”

“Whatever he needs, really. Not to toot my own horn, but I’m a pretty damn good actor, and very good at disguises, too. Even those Rebs thought I was one of them, and they’ll never know any different,” he says, glee evident in his voice, “They’ll just think I was a greedy old secesh sergeant who kept you all to myself because I didn’t want to share the reward. It’s almost a pity I’m not recognized for my acting because what I’ve done during the war is some pretty incredible stuff.”

“Well, if someone recognizes your work, you’re dead, Artemus.”

“That’s why it’s _almost_ a pity, James. I do prefer myself the way I am, you know, my neck at this length and my body unperforated.”

West laughs, “Yes, I suppose that is the best way to be. Where are you from?”

“All over. I’ve been all over, in just about every theatre.”

“But originally? Where were you born?”

Something shifts in his form, his muscles tightening slightly, and Artemus responds, “I was born in a little place in Eastern Kentucky, but I haven’t been there since I was twelve and joined a traveling show.”

“Did you run away?”

West isn’t sure why he’s so interested in Gordon, why he wants to know so much about him, but Gordon at least hasn’t told him to shut up.

“Not quite… I was orphaned, so I didn’t really have anyone or anything to run away from, James.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Artemus. I know how you feel, though. My father died when I was very young. He was killed in Mexico when I was four. My mother’s still in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, though. She never remarried even though plenty of gentlemen tried to court her.”

“Is she very beautiful? Your mother?”

“I suppose so, though I’m sure everyone thinks their mother is beautiful. I’ve been told I favor her, that we have the same hair color and the same blue eyes.”

Gordon turns to look at him, his gaze a little strange, and he replies, “In that case… yes, she’s probably very beautiful.”

West tries not to read too much into it, not that he minds. _I’m not vain, but I do know I’m handsome._ He’s used to lingering gazes and soft touches that last longer than propriety demands. He stumbles again, falls hard, gives a short cry. Gordon hurries over, asks, “Hey, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t- no, I’m not hurt… I’m not hurt. I was just startled.”

He helps West up, his hands large but delicate, like he plays music, too. That description seems to sum up the man: large but delicate. West is no giant, stands an average five feet eight inches. Gordon has a few inches on him, is a bit nearer to six feet, and he’s more thickly built. He isn’t fat, nowhere near it, but is what West would call solid. _Yes, he’s solid all over: solid frame, solid mind, solid heart._ It’s a stray sort of thought but one that fits.

“Where are we going, anyway? I mean, no offense, but you still look like a secesh, Artemus,” West says.

“We’re headed toward the Union lines, my boy. Once someone in blue sees us, you become the jailer and I become the prisoner. You say you’re taking me to see General Dodge, and together we report to the general. Simple as that.”

“If you say so.”

“And I do say so, James,” he smiles.

 _It’s a nice smile._ West almost cries with relief when they come to an actual, honest-to-God road. His uniform is in filthy tatters, and Gordon’s grey one isn’t much better thanks to all the wicked underbrush.

“Well, we’ve got about… oh, I’d say a mile and a half before we run into the Union picket line,” Gordon says, glancing around and up at the sky, “Should be making much better time now, though.”

“I was hoping you’d have some horses stashed away somewhere, Artemus.”

“Walking is much easier… much easier to be sneaky when you’re walking.”

“I suppose you’re right,” West agrees, “So… this is all you do for General Dodge? Sneaking around in the dark?”

“Isn’t that essentially what you do for General Dodge? Sneak around in the dark? Only you get to do it on a horse, “ Gordon says, smirking.

“I do a bit more than sneaking around-“

They fall into easy banter, quietly bickering back and forth and chatting about places they’ve been. They have a few places in common, like Philadelphia and Washington and Baltimore, and West has lots of questions about places like San Francisco and Denver and St. Louis. Light is just barely peeking through the dark of night when they finally hear, “Halt! Who goes there?”

“I’m Captain James West, originally with the 7th Pennsylvania Cavalry, now with the 66th Illinois, the Sharpshooters! I have a Reb prisoner here who wants to talk to General Dodge!”

Gordon is suddenly Sergeant Greenley again, slouched and uncouth and loose. A corporal steps up and takes them to another captain, who takes them to a major, who finally takes them to the general. General Dodge takes one look at them, says, “Captain Gordon, good to see you. I’m getting to be an expert at looking under all your disguises.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to try harder.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will… Captain West, I’m glad you’re all in one piece. We were worried we’d lost one of our best officers.”

“Well, sir, Captain Gordon here found me in short order. He did an excellent job of navigating us back to a road so we could return in a timely fashion.”

Color flares slightly in Gordon’ cheeks, some embarrassment perhaps, but West means what he says. The general smiles, says, “Yes, and I’m sure he was mighty creative about it, too. Always is. Now, what sort of information do you have for me?”

It’s not a long meeting. They both have much the same information, though Gordon has a bit more since he was able to move freely around the camps. Another general comes in, looks angry, has both West and Gordon snapping to attention. General Dodge dismisses them.

“Do you have a spot to kip here in the camp, Artemus?” West asks outside, “Do you have a regiment you’re attached to or-…”

“Not really. I just sort of lay my head down wherever I can find a spot.”

“Come with me. You can sleep in my tent.”

“Will it be up? You haven’t been with the brigade a few days. If you haven’t noticed, we’ve moved position since you were last with us.”

“It’ll be up… they’ll have someone temporarily filling my position, and I can guarantee that lieutenant will be sleeping in my tent,” West smirks, “Come on, Artemus…”

He takes Gordon by the arm, leads him toward the canvas. The lieutenant is already awake, snaps off a crisp salute to both captains, who wearily return it.

“There’s only one camp bed, but you’re welcome to it,” West tells him, “I’ve got no problem sleeping on the floor-“

“Nonsense! This is your tent and your bed. I’ll sleep on the floor. I’ve got my bedroll. I’ll be fine.”

West gets the impression it’ll be useless to argue, so he concedes to Gordon, allows him to sleep on the floor. He watches the man lay out the bedroll and lie down, curling up under the thin wool blanket, and Gordon is soon asleep. He breathes slow and even, his face slack. It makes him look soft and beautiful. _Now you stop thinking like that, Jim West. It’ll only bring you trouble._ Gordon is a spy, after all, and that’s a dangerous job. After the war, if he survives, he’ll probably go right back to acting and traveling the country, while West wants to go right back to Lancaster and tend the family land. _Or do I?_ He’s seen a fair amount of action and adventure now. Could a quiet life in Lancaster really be so fulfilling? Maybe he could find a job like Gordon’s, one where he could travel around the country and see lots of different places. He’s no actor, but perhaps he could follow Gordon, could work as a stagehand or something.

 _You’ve only just met this man. Don’t go making crazy plans before the war’s done._ He simply lays down on the camp bed to fall asleep, watching Gordon until he does so, enjoying the company of another person.

Gordon is gone when West wakes up later in the day, and he can’t help but feel a pang of sadness. _If we’re meant to meet again, I suppose we will._ For now, West just changes into his clean uniform and goes to find out what he’s missed.


End file.
